CHAPTER 15 — THE GIRLS WHO STAYED
1570 Words
CHAPTER 15 — THE GIRLS WHO STAYED
Amani wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting in the quiet living room, wrapped in one of Elias’s soft grey blankets. She didn’t remember the walk back from the cemetery or the words Elias had spoken as he guided her home, one slow step at a time. She only remembered the exhaustion—deep and bone-heavy—settling inside her like cold water.
Her eyes felt swollen, her throat raw. She didn’t even have the strength to wipe the dried tears from her cheeks. She only sat on the couch, staring at the wall, breathing in uneven shivers.
Elias was in the kitchen, quietly making tea he wasn’t sure she would drink. He didn’t try comforting her with touch or empty words; he just stayed close enough that she didn’t feel alone.
Then came a knock at the door.
Three knocks—sharp, fast, worried.
Elias exhaled softly. “That’s them.”
Amani blinked, turning her head slightly. “Who?”
“Zariah and Mila.”
Amani’s stomach knotted.
She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she would ever be ready. She didn’t want to break in front of anyone else. She didn’t want more eyes watching her c***k apart, even if they were her friends.
Before she could protest, Elias gently said, “They asked me to tell them if I found you. They’ve been looking for you too. You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready.”
Her heart beat unevenly.
She stared at her hands, breathing shakily.
She wasn’t ready—but a small, aching part of her wanted them there. She didn’t want to be alone anymore.
Elias opened the door.
Zariah was the first to rush in.
“Amani!” she gasped as soon as she saw her. Amani didn’t even have time to stand before Zariah dropped to her knees in front of her and wrapped her arms around her waist, holding her as though she had been gone for years.
Amani stiffened, then slowly—very slowly—her chin trembled and her body melted into the hug. She didn’t cry this time, but something inside her loosened, like a tight knot finally beginning to unravel.
“We were so scared,” Zariah whispered into her shoulder. “I thought something happened to you. Don’t do that again, please. Please.”
Amani swallowed. Her arms lifted weakly and she hugged her back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Zariah only held her tighter.
Behind them stood Mila—someone Amani hadn’t seen in months.
Mila was Luka’s girlfriend, but she had been more than that before she left school for a while. She had been part of their little circle for years—confident, outspoken, fiercely loyal, and smart in a way that made teachers sigh in relief during group projects. She loved pastel colors, lived in oversized hoodies, and had this gentle way of listening that made people trust her instantly.
When her father got sick, she stopped coming to school for a while to help her mom at home. She texted the group often, but she hadn’t seen Amani face-to-face since the beginning of the term.
Now she was back—with soft brown braids that reached her shoulders and tired eyes that still held warmth. She stepped closer, giving Amani a small, careful smile.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said gently. “Can I hug you too?”
Amani didn’t trust her voice, so she only nodded.
Mila sat beside her and pulled her into a slow, warm embrace—gentle enough not to overwhelm her but firm enough to let her know she was here. Zariah finally let go and joined them on the couch, wrapping her arm around Amani’s back.
For a moment, Amani sat between them—safe, warm, cocooned in the presence of two girls who truly cared about her.
She didn’t realize how much she missed that.
Mila leaned back slightly, brushing Amani’s cheek softly. “Your eyes are swollen. You haven’t slept.”
Amani looked down, ashamed.
“I… I couldn’t.”
Zariah’s hand slid over hers. “It’s okay. We’re not judging you. We’re here to help you breathe again, okay?”
Amani nodded faintly.
Elias quietly placed three cups of tea on the table. Mila gave him a grateful smile before returning her focus to Amani.
“We won’t force you to talk,” Mila said softly. “We just need you to know we’re here. You don’t have to carry anything by yourself anymore.”
Amani’s throat tightened again.
She bit her lip.
Her eyes burned.
And for a long moment, she didn’t speak at all.
---
Zariah was the first to break the silence.
“When did it get bad again?” she asked gently. “Was it something at school? Did someone say something?”
Amani shook her head.
“It’s not like that.”
Mila exchanged a quiet look with Zariah, then squeezed Amani’s hand. “Then what is it, honey? You left without telling anyone. You stayed gone for a week. And… you look like you’re hurting so much. We just want to help.”
Amani’s vision blurred. Her lip trembled.
She turned toward Elias briefly. He gave her a small, steady nod—as if telling her, You don’t have to hide anymore. Not from them.
Amani finally took a shaky breath.
“It’s about… the past,” she whispered. “About what happened before I left for my grandma’s.”
Zariah froze.
Mila went still.
Even Elias’s chest seemed to stop moving.
They didn’t speak. They waited.
Amani wiped her cheek with the back of her trembling hand.
“I thought I’d forgotten it,” she said. “Or at least… buried it. But someone gave me something at school—a USB drive. And I didn’t want to look at it, but I did. And I shouldn’t have. It was…”
She cut herself off, chest heaving.
Zariah’s eyes widened with realization. “Oh my God. Amani… was it about him?”
Amani nodded once.
Mila inhaled sharply, covering her mouth. “That monster.”
Amani closed her eyes tightly, as if hearing his name in her head alone hurt.
“I watched it,” she whispered. “Every day. After school. Over and over. I don’t know why. Maybe I wanted to understand something. Maybe I wanted to feel something. Maybe I wanted to make myself numb.”
Zariah placed both hands on Amani’s cheeks, turning her face gently until their foreheads touched.
“Amani,” she whispered, voice trembling with emotion, “nothing that happened was your fault. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
Amani’s breath hitched. Her tears spilled freely again.
Mila placed her hand on her back in slow circles. “You didn’t deserve any of that. You didn’t deserve how everyone treated you afterward. You didn’t deserve the disbelief. You didn’t deserve the shame. You were a child, Amani.”
A sob escaped Amani—small, weak, painful.
Zariah pulled her into her arms again, rocking her slightly. “We believe you,” she whispered fiercely. “We always will.”
Mila nodded. “And this time, you’re not going to face anything alone. Not with Elias. Not with Luka. Not with Zariah. Not with me.”
Amani cried quietly into Zariah’s shoulder—soft, exhausted sobs that sounded like a girl finally letting go of something she had carried for too long.
Elias turned away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before they could see.
---
When the tears finally stopped, Amani leaned back against the couch cushions, feeling drained but lighter—just a little. Zariah stayed beside her, leaning her head on Amani’s shoulder. Mila sat cross-legged in front of her on the carpet, holding her hands gently.
Mila squeezed her fingers. “I know you’ve seen me as Luka’s loud, annoying girlfriend,” she joked softly, trying to lighten the air. “But before that, we were friends. Real ones. I still see you like that. And if you ever need anything—if you ever need to cry, scream, or sit in silence—I’m here.”
Amani gave a weak smile. “I missed you.”
Mila’s eyes softened. “I missed you too. So much.”
Zariah snorted lightly. “You better not disappear again. I almost fought half the town looking for you.”
Amani laughed—a tiny, fragile laugh—but it was the first genuine sound she had made in weeks.
And hearing that laugh made Elias exhale in relief.
For the first time in a long time, the room felt warm.
Safe.
Alive.
Amani rested her head against Zariah’s and whispered, “Thank you… both of you. I’m… I’m not okay. Not yet. But I think… I want to be.”
Mila smiled. “Then we’ll walk with you until you are.”
“And fight for you,” Zariah added.
“And protect you,” Elias said from behind them.
Amani looked up at all three of them—Zariah’s warmth, Mila’s strength, Elias’s steady presence—and for the first time since the past had resurfaced…
She didn’t feel alone.
She didn’t feel cursed.
She didn’t feel dirty or ashamed.
She felt… surrounded.
Held.
Loved.
And maybe—just maybe—healing.
- Writer
